"For now the time to pack has come,
And love is put away;
Farewell! I hear the roll of drum,
And may no longer stay."
(_Hoffmann von Fallersleben._)
Towards the end of March Reimers was turning over the pages of the
_Weekly Military Gazette_ before dinner, when he saw the announcement
that his dear friend Senior-lieutenant Güntz was to rejoin his regiment
on April 1st. The red order of the Eagle was to be given to him upon
the expiration of his work in Berlin.
Güntz to return! Dear old pedantic Güntz, who had so often and so
ruthlessly opened his eyes for him! To tell the truth, this friend had
almost passed out of his thoughts; yet now he suddenly felt a genuine
longing for him.
During the past winter Reimers had grown much more at home in the
regiment, feeling as a wanderer returned. He felt himself freer and
more light-hearted, and his comrades seemed more congenial. Never had a
winter flown by so swiftly; and yet he counted the days till the 1st.
He had made a special resolve to spend his evenings over his books, and
had plunged with renewed zeal into his studies for the examination of
the Staff College, which had been interrupted by his illness. And then
the feeling of loneliness had suddenly returned. But now all would be
well, now that Güntz was coming back--Güntz, from whom no difference of
rank or age had ever divided him; to whom he could speak straight from
the heart, and on whose sympathy he could at all times rely.
Güntz's return was scarcely alluded to by his brother officers. After
all there was nothing extraordinary about it; every year some one took
up or left a post of the kind he had been filling.
The ladies of the regiment made somewhat more of a stir; for one
question, which had previously been theoretically discussed, now became
suddenly of burning importance.
Güntz had married in Berlin, _and his bride was a governess_. This much
only was known: that she was not even particularly pretty. He had, of
course, obtained the requisite official sanction, so that there could
not be anything actually against her family; but concerning the
reception into their midst of this young person, who had formerly
filled a "menial position," the ladies of the regiment felt somewhat
troubled.
Frau Lischke laid the case before her husband, and begged him to ask
instructions of the colonel.
"H'm," answered the major, "I'll do it; but I don't care for the job.
Falkenhein can be pretty sharp-tongued upon occasion."
"Sharp-tongued?" retorted his wife. "My dearest, surely you are more
than a match for him there! And there's another matter. While you are
about it, you might just mention that stuck-up Reimers. This entire
winter he has kept away, quite without excuse, from all society. Just
tell the colonel that I don't think that proper in a young officer."
Lischke was not as a rule shy or in awe of his superior officer, but
his wife's commission gave him an ill-defined uneasiness, so that he
boggled over his errand.
The colonel let him have his say out. Then he began, in his somewhat
nervous, quick way:
"My dear major, give my compliments to Frau Lischke, and tell her that
young Reimers is preparing for an examination, so that she will
understand his seclusion. For my part, Lischke, if Reimers had turned
up at every dance of which your wife is patroness, or which she has
helped to get up, I should have been surprised. There may be C.O.'s who
think differently; for my own part, so long as I have the honour of
commanding the regiment, such festivities shall only be obligatory on
those youngsters whose manners need touching up. That that is not the
case with Reimers does not, I hope, escape the penetration of your
excellent wife. That is my official view of the case; as to my personal
feeling, which I give Frau Lischke in strict confidence: it is that I
wish the devil would take all these everlasting balls and parties!
"With regard to Lieutenant Güntz's wife, I beg you to express to your
good lady my very respectful surprise at her question. If the Ministry
of War has found no fault with the young lady, then surely the ladies
here may be satisfied. Perhaps they are afraid that one who has been a
governess may outshine them in wisdom? Well, of course, that may very
well be! I do not want to be disagreeable, my dear major; so please
make my views known to the ladies as tenderly as you can."
Reimers met Güntz at the station. The dear fellow had grown somewhat
stouter. No wonder, considering he had been away from duty for a good
year.
As they walked away the elder officer looked keenly at the younger.
"Reimers," he said, delightedly, "you look thoroughly well. African
traveller! Boer campaigner! Prisoner in a fortress! Which has suited
you best?"
"Probably all three," answered Reimers; "the one counteracted the
other."
"Was that so? Am I not the only destroyer of illusions? You must tell
me all about everything, won't you?"
"All to _you_ certainly."
"That's right. Well, to begin with, how does the garrison air suit
you?"
"So-so. And you? How will you like this after Berlin?"
"Oh, all right, I think. If not----Well, we shall see."
For a while the friends were silent; then Güntz was about to speak,
when Reimers interrupted him.
"But I must ask you, above all things, how is your wife, and where is
she now?"
Güntz looked at him smiling. "She is very well, thanks, and is at the
moment with her brother, a parson in Thuringia. But you don't ask after
my boy!"
"What? Have you got one?"
"Rather! A fat little cub, as round as a bullet. Ten weeks old. You
must help us christen him."
"Güntz, you should have told me."
"Told you what, my son?"
"That you were a father."
"Why, there was time enough. Anyhow, it was in the _Weekly Military_.
So it is your own fault if you didn't know. But will you be godfather?"
"Of course, of course, gladly."
"Then next Saturday afternoon at five. Morning dress."
Reimers laughed gaily.
"Since when have you taken to talking like a telegram, Güntz? Are words
expensive in Berlin?"
"Expensive? Pooh! Cheap, cheap! A hundred thou-sand for a farthing,"
broke out the new arrival, with somewhat unaccountable fierceness. His
open, friendly face suddenly darkened and took on a grim, bitter
expression.
"Well," he said, as they parted, "we shall meet again, very often, I
hope. So long, old chap!"
In fact, Reimers became a constant guest at the Güntzes'. He feared at
times that he came too often.
"Güntz, old boy," he said, "tell me frankly, am I not a nuisance?"
"How so?" asked his host, sitting up in his easy chair.
"I am afraid I come too often."
Güntz knocked the ash off the end of his cigar, and reassured him; "No,
certainly not, old chap. If you did I should not hesitate to tell you."
So it came about that every Sunday at mid-day, and on every Wednesday
evening, Reimers found himself at the dinner-table of the snug little
villa, Waisenhaus Strasse No. 57.
Frau Kläre Güntz, a little lady with a fresh, pretty face, and bright,
clever eyes, called these her "at home" days.
"You see, Fatty," she said to her husband, "I am trying to follow in
the footsteps of Frau Lischke."
She lifted her eyebrows and went on, sarcastically: "When you have only
been a governess you have to be so very careful. And it's difficult!
Sometimes I have my doubts whether I shall ever attain to the standard
of Gustava Lischke."
She sighed comically and nodded at her husband.
He threatened her: "Mind what you are about, Kläre. I will not permit
disrespect. Gustava!" he added, chuckling, and turned to Reimers: "We
were neighbours as children," he explained, "Gustava and I; but now she
denies the acquaintance. My old father--God bless him!--was a builder.
Gustava's papa dealt in butter and eggs; a worthy, most worthy man. But
now, of course, according to the new fashion, they must pile it on, and
Gustava's papa was a merchant."
He laughed, and then went on, more bitterly: "If you weren't present,
Kläre, I should use a strong expression to set the whole dirty pack in
their true light. Gustava is unhappily only a symptom, and one
among many. And I tell you, Kläre, if you were to behave like her,
then--then----"
"Well, what terrible thing would befall me?" asked the young wife.
Güntz checked himself. He smiled slily. "Why, then I should make use of
the right which the good old law allows me, and administer corporal
punishment."
Kläre laughed aloud.
"Anyhow," said she, "the women really aren't as bad as you make them
out, Fatty."
The senior-lieutenant would not agree: "Now, now, Kläre, I was within
earshot when all the divinities sat together discussing whether you
would have hands roughened by "service," by polishing glasses, washing
children, and such like."
Kläre was a little vexed. "Well," she cried, "would you have had them
eat me up out of affection at the first go-off?"
"That's just what does happen sometimes," said her husband. "The moment
Frau Kauerhof first appeared on the scene, a perfect stranger to them
all, they threw themselves upon her neck, and hugged and kissed her, as
if they had been her adoring sisters. Of course, Frau Kauerhof was a
von Lüben, the daughter of a colonel and head of a department in the
War Office, and you, my Kläre--shame on you!--were a governess!"
But the young wife insisted more vehemently: "Now do be reasonable!"
she cried. "It has really become quite an _idée fixe_ with you that I
have not been received with due respect. I can only assure you again
and again that all the ladies have been most polite and amiable towards
me."
Güntz growled on: "Geese, a pack of stupid geese!"
"For shame, Fatty!" Kläre remonstrated.
But he continued to grumble. "Has a single one of them embraced you as
they did Frau Kauerhof? Has one of them even kissed you? Has one been
really nice and friendly to you?"
"Look here," cried Kläre quite roused, "I don't want any of them to
fall on my neck when they scarcely know me. And as it happens, one has
been kind to me, very kind indeed!"
"Pooh! Who, then?"
"Frau von Gropphusen!"
"Oh, I am not surprised. I except her. She is not a goose. But she's a
crazy creature, all the same."
"Fatty! Don't be abominable! What has the poor woman done to you?"
Güntz rose from his chair. He took a few turns up and down the room to
work off the stiffness, and grumbled on: "Done? To me? Nothing, of
course. But she's hysterical out and out. That's it, hysterical!"
Kläre warmly took up the defence of the accused woman. "You may be
right," she said, "but there's a reason for it."
"Certainly, certainly," answered Güntz. "Her husband is--forgive the
coarse expression, Kläre--a regular hog. But an hysterical woman is an
utter horror to me."
"I can only feel sorry for Frau von Gropphusen."
"And so do I. But I don't want her to hang on to you."
"She does not hang on to me," answered his wife simply.
But at this moment a subdued wailing was heard, and Kläre instantly
hastened from the room.
The men, left alone, dropped into reflection. Neither spoke for a
while.
At last Reimers broke the silence.
"I think, Güntz, that you exaggerate a bit. Senseless and silly
prejudices are not only to be found in military circles. Anyhow,
there's no good in running your head against a brick wall."
"True," assented Güntz. "But if a dung-cart were driven right under my
nose, I should have to give it a shove."
He resumed his perambulations of the room, and lapsed for a while into
silence.
"Anyhow," he began again, smiling contentedly, "Frau Gropphusen may
come to Kläre for consolation if she likes to have her. I am sure my
wife is proof against the hysterical bacillus. Eh?"
Before Reimers could answer, Kläre returned, a little flushed. She bore
the baby on a pillow, rocking him in her arms.
Güntz answered his own question.
"Yes, yes, she's proof," he said.
Reimers was thoroughly happy in the Güntzes' society. The atmosphere of
security and candour in which they lived influenced him unawares; it
wrought as a useful antidote when his spirit was inclined to soar too
high into the realms of the unsubstantial. He was much delighted to
find that his friend shared his admiration for his honoured and beloved
Falkenhein. Indeed, in this matter, the dry and reserved man sometimes
outdid his young fellow-officer.
"There's a _man_!" he would say. "Head and heart, eyes and mouth in the
right places! A good fellow. In one word--a man!"
This word was the highest in Güntz's vocabulary. The opposite to it,
until his marriage, had been woman. After marriage he naturally
excepted Kläre.
How sick he was of the way people went on in Berlin! He could hardly
speak too strongly about the weaknesses of certain officers.
Reimers did not hold it necessary to be absolutely blind to the faults
of one's superiors and comrades; still, he thought that his friend went
a bit too far in his strictures, and he did not conceal his opinion.
"Dear boy," responded Güntz, "why should I not speak freely to you? Do
you think it gives me any pleasure that so many of our superiors and
comrades do not merit the respect which, as officers, they command?
This has nothing to do with their personal character. The only question
for me is: are they fit for their profession? If not, they are only a
nuisance in it, so far as I can see."
"You used to be less severe."
"Possibly. But when one has rubbed the sleepiness of habit out of one's
eyes one sees more clearly and sharply. Besides, take an example.
Stuckhardt will be a major soon. Do you consider him fit to lead a
division?"
"No, he has already made a terrible mess of his battery. He won't stay
on the staff for a year, that's certain."
"Why should he be there at all? I tell you he should never even have
been made a captain. What about Gropphusen?"
"Ah! There you are! He has missed his vocation!"
"Why is he still where he is then?" Güntz laughed grimly to himself.
"What ought he to have been?"
"A painter," answered Reimers.
The other made a grimace. "Possibly!----Well, thirdly, what of my
revered chief, Captain Mohr? What do you think of him?"
"He has already got a knife at his throat. I bet he'll be sent off
after the man[oe]uvres."
"He goes on drinking just as he has ever since I've known him." Güntz
sighed deeply. "And I tell you, Reimers, it's no joke to serve under
such a man."
Reimers nodded. "I feel with you, old man. And yet half the regiment
envies you for being in the fifth battery."
"Pooh!" laughed Güntz bitterly, "there you see them. They would all
like to idle under a sot. They just want to be where they think they're
least looked after. They may do as they choose; but I want to know what
I'm here for. If I have a profession I like to live up to it; I
consider myself too good to be merely ornamental. I tell you, Reimers,"
he went on, "I was thoroughly upset when I joined the battery. The way
things go on there you would hardly believe. I wondered at first how it
could be kept dark. But there's a regular planned-out system of
hurrying things into shape somehow for inspection--fixing up a sort of
model village. And as for honour! Well, one must admit that they all
stand by one another in the most infernal way, from the respected chief
of the battery down to the smallest gunner, so that they'll rattle
along somehow. There's a show of some sort of discipline; but really
and truly it's just an all-round compromise. A man does a couple of
days' work, and earns by that the right of idling all the more
shamelessly afterwards. And that _I_ should be let in for this sort of
thing! Dear boy, you know how few palpable results, naturally, an
officer can show in time of peace; but still it's too much that one
should do one's duty with no possible chance of any _kudos_. Old man,
it's too bad! I can't stand it. I know this, that if it goes on I shall
quit the service, dearly as I love it."
He glanced with deep sorrow at his dark green coat, and strode up and
down the room.
"This is my only hope," he went on, with grim satisfaction, "that my
beloved captain will soon succumb to D.T."
Reimers reflected. "You must allow that this battery's unfortunate
condition is quite exceptional. Let me make a suggestion. Provoke Mohr
to a quarrel! You'll be sure to be backed up. Every one knows he can't
control himself when he is drunk. And you can go to Madelung, or, still
better, come to us under Wegstetten."
"That's an idea," observed Güntz. "But it won't do. For, in confidence,
Falkenhein has let it transpire that in the autumn I shall get my
captaincy; and probably--indeed certainly--I shall succeed Mohr."
Reimers jumped up, delighted.
"But, dear old chap, then it's all right! You'll bring the fifth out of
the mud. You're just the chap to do it! And your reward will be the
greater in proportion to the wretched state of affairs now. Jerusalem!
What a splendid division it will be! Madelung, Güntz, Wegstetten! The
best heads of batteries in the whole corps! Without any flattery, old
chap!"
But the other did not join in his rejoicing. "Dear old fellow," he
answered, "you may think so. But I confess that it seems to me as if we
had got a bit off the right track with our whole military system; as if
Madelung's and Wegstetten's and my own work were bound to be labour in
vain."
He stopped suddenly. His usually cheerful face had grown careworn and
gloomy.
"How do you mean?" asked Reimers.
The other sighed, and answered, "Dear boy, I cannot say more as yet; I
have not fully thought it out. I will first make an attempt to settle
down to the work here. I promise you, as soon as my own mind is clear,
I will tell you honestly what is bothering me."
Reimers suspected moisture in the eyes of his friend, as they clasped
hands.
Güntz went on softly: "Dear old boy, it's pretty hard when a man finds,
or thinks he finds, that he has devoted his life to a fruitless,
hopeless business! What is such a man to do? But it is possible that I
am right in my fears--and of that I cannot bear to think."
"What fears do you mean?"
"I can't help myself. I am often forced to remember that we've had a
bad time before."
"Before when?"
"Before Jena."
Reimers started. The ominous word struck his pride like a lash. He drew
himself up stiffly. "Why not before Sedan?"
The other calmly answered: "Sedan? Jena? Perhaps you are right, perhaps
I am. No one knows."
After this conversation Güntz avoided such topics with his friend. If
Reimers tried to draw him again on the subject, he answered evasively,
"I have told you I must fight it out with myself. Until then I don't
want to talk at random."
But for all that he grew calmer and more equable. The biting, sarcastic
tone he had adopted gradually disappeared; and it almost seemed as if
the mood had been merely a survival of his Berlin experience.
At Easter a small event occurred in the little garrison,
During Holy Week Colonel von Falkenhein took a short leave of absence
in order to fetch his daughter Marie home from school at Neuchatel.
After Easter she was to come out into society.
Reimers debated whether he ought not to pay his respects to the
Falkenheins during the holidays. Most of the unmarried officers had
gone away on leave, and on Easter Monday he was alone in the mess-room
at the mid-day meal.
Finally he decided to pay his visit that afternoon.
He was not in the least curious about the young lady. He remembered her
as Falkenhein's little Marie, three years ago, before she went to
school; a pretty, rather slender little girl, with a thick plait of
bright gold hair down her back, blushing scarlet when one spoke to her
and responding quickly and daintily with the regulation childish
curtsey.
She was now just seventeen; still slender, and her little face framed
by the same bright golden hair, that seemed almost too great a weight
for her head. Beautiful clear grey eyes she had also; and Reimers
particularly remarked her delicate straight nose, by the trembling of
whose nostrils one could judge if the little lady were excited about
anything. She bore the dignity of being the colonel's daughter
with modest pride. She handled the tea-things with the style of
an accomplished matron, and led the conversation with a sort of
old-fashioned self-possession.
Falkenhein never took his eyes off his child. Sometimes he smiled to
himself, as he noted how unconcernedly she did the honours to her first
guest, knowing well her secret anxiety to play her new part with
success.
When Reimers rose to go, the colonel invited him to supper. The
lieutenant accepted with pleasure. He was sure that intercourse with
his commander would be of a thousand times more value to him than the
dry wisdom of books.
Hitherto when Reimers had supped at the colonel's, after the meal, as
they sat smoking, the senior officer would dilate on his reminiscences
and experiences.
This time, however, there was a little alteration. Before a young girl
the two men could not discuss specially military matters. Nevertheless,
Reimers was not bored.
When Fräulein Marie showed symptoms of beginning again in her quaint
universal-conversationalist style her father interrupted her.
"Little one," he said, "leave that sort of chatter alone! Keep it for
others. Lieutenant Reimers does not care for that kind of thing. And I
know him well, I assure you, my child; he is one of my best officers."
The little lady opened her eyes wide on the young soldier. "If papa
says that," she said gravely, "I congratulate you, Herr Reimers."
The colonel laughed aloud. Conversation flowed fast and free after
this. The young girl could talk brightly of her little life, and asked
intelligent questions.
She began confidentially to question her guest about the ladies of the
regiment, whereupon Falkenhein said abruptly: "Tell me, Reimers; you
often go to the Güntzes', don't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Of course Güntz is an old friend of yours. Do you know, I am much
taken by his wife. She seems to me to be amiable, straightforward,
sensible. We are neighbours; I should like Marie to see something of
her. But they keep themselves to themselves rather, don't they?"
"Oh, not altogether. Only Güntz finds ordinary shallow society
uncongenial."
"So do I, and so do you; eh, Reimers? But I see what you mean."
Next day Lieutenant Güntz and Frau Kläre called at the colonel's, and
regular intercourse soon established itself between the neighbours.
Marie von Falkenhein was secretly enraptured with Kläre Güntz and her
"sweet baby"; while Kläre took to her heart the fair young girl who had
so early lost a mother's love.
From this time the social status of the former governess was completely
changed. Frau Lischke invited that "delightful" Frau Güntz to her
select coffee parties. But Kläre excused herself on the plea that she
was nursing her baby and could not be away from him for more than two
hours together.
Later in the year, when the evenings were warmer, and it was tempting
to linger in the open air, the neighbours took to meeting together for
supper in one garden or the other. The occupants of Waisenhaus Strasse
No. 55 and those of No. 57 alternately provided the comestibles.
Reimers was always free of the table. Once he triumphantly contributed
a liver sausage with truffles; but he was ruthlessly snubbed by Kläre
for bringing such a thing in the dog-days.
The little clique was much censured by the regiment. Such familiar
intercourse, it was thought, undermined the authority of the colonel.
Nevertheless, people were eager for the goodwill of Frau Güntz.
Thus it came about that Güntz had the satisfaction of seeing his wife
one of the most popular ladies of the regiment, and was able to tease
her with the new discovery that she was "exclusive, not to say stuck up
and proud."
In reality Kläre had only become intimate with two of the ladies. After
Marie von Falkenhein she foregathered chiefly with Hannah von
Gropphusen.
The latter was a real puzzle to her new friends. She was always
alternating in her moods from one extreme to the other. Sometimes she
would not appear for weeks at a time; then she would come down day
after day, each time seeming unable to tear herself away. Now she would
be full of nervous, overwrought vivacity, and again would sit perfectly
silent, staring gloomily before her.
Güntz fled from her presence; he said she made him feel creepy. Once he
whispered mysteriously in his wife's ear: "Do you know, I believe she
and Gropphusen have committed a murder between them: and this terrible
bond holds them together, although they fight like cat and dog."
But Kläre strongly objected to such jokes. "How can you tell what that
poor woman may have to bear? There may have been a murder in her
history; but it was done by Gropphusen, and on her soul. Joke about
something else, Fatty."
The happy young wife entertained the warmest sympathy for the other
unhappy one, who always had the look of being pursued by some terrible
evil. More than once a sisterly feeling impelled her, not from
curiosity, but from genuine sympathy, to put a question to Hannah about
her sorrow; but she read in the sombre, hopeless eyes of the sufferer
that the burden must be borne alone; so she left Frau von Gropphusen in
peace. She listened patiently when the nervous woman talked ceaselessly
about a thousand different things, in short, jerky sentences as if to
drown some inner voice; neither would Kläre interrupt with a single
question the heavy silence in which, at other times, Hannah would sit
for hours, watching her as she busied herself with her little
housewifely tidyings and mendings. It was only in watching this
peaceful activity that Frau von Gropphusen recovered her equanimity.
Her face would then lose its unnatural fixity of expression, and she
would draw a deep breath, as though eased of a heavy burden.
"It is so peaceful here with you, Frau Kläre," she said sometimes. "It
does one good."
Güntz shook his head over her weird conduct. One thing gratified him
concerning her, however: it was that she admired his little son
unreservedly, and could be given no greater treat than to be allowed to
hold the boy on her lap. She would sit as though worshipping the child,
who, indeed, was no angel, only a quite ordinary, fat, chubby infant.
At such times her small finely-chiselled features would light up with a
glorious beauty; so that Güntz one day whispered to his wife, "Do you
know what the Gropphusen needs? A child!"
And in his open-hearted way he once said jokingly to Hannah: "Wouldn't
you like a beautiful boy like that for yourself, dear lady?"
At that Hannah Gropphusen sprang up wildly. Her hands shook so that she
could scarcely hold the baby, whom Kläre snatched from her only just in
time.
"I, a child?" she cried. "For the love of God, never, never!"
A look of horror was in her eyes. She held her hands before her face as
though to shut out something horrible.
Güntz drew back shocked, and stole softly from the room, taking with
him the baby, who had set up a mighty howling. Kläre put her arm round
the trembling woman, led her to a seat, and soothed her like a child.
Sitting motionless, Frau von Gropphusen listened to the gentle,
comforting sound of the words, without taking in their meaning,
Suddenly she sprang up and said in a voice of enforced calm:
"Forgive me, dear kind Frau Kläre, for having caused such a
disturbance. It is wrong of me not to be able to control myself better.
Don't be vexed, or angry with me, but please just forget what has
happened."
She began hurriedly to prepare for leaving. Her hands still shook as
she pinned on her hat before the mirror.
"Let me go with you, dear Frau von Gropphusen," urged Kläre.
Hannah von Gropphusen, however, was smiling once more; though in sooth
on her pallid countenance the smile had something of a ghastly look.
"No, no, Frau Kläre," she assured her; "I am better alone."
Once more saying, "Forgive me, won't you?" she departed.
Güntz meanwhile had not been able to quiet the little screamer, and was
glad enough when Kläre took the child from him.
"What is the matter with her?" he asked.
Kläre shrugged her shoulders. "She did not tell me; perhaps she could
not. The trouble may be too profound, too terrible."
"You have left her alone?"
"She has gone."
The senior-lieutenant looked out of window. His wife, with the baby in
her arms, came and stood beside him.
"See!" he cried. "There she goes! Young, beautiful, rich,
fashionable--has she not everything to make her happy?" And shaking
his head he added, "Poor, poor woman!"
He vowed to himself not to make depreciatory remarks about the
Gropphusen in the future. One thing, however, he felt he must impress
on his wife: "Look here, Kläre," he cautioned her, "you won't let her
hold the boy often, will you?"
With the returning spring Hannah von Gropphusen seemed to awaken from
her depression. She had one great passion, to which she eagerly
resorted as soon as the days became fit for it: this was tennis.
In their small garrison she had no real match; the only person who came
anywhere near her was Reimers. He had, of course, been absent from the
tennis club for a whole year, and she was all the more delighted at the
approach of fine weather.
Frau von Gropphusen and Reimers were always the last to leave the
ground, when the balls were often hardly discernible in the gathering
twilight. She soon found that her opponent had, during his absence,
come on very much in his play. At Cairo he had played with English
people, acknowledged masters of the game; whilst she herself, through
playing with indifferent performers, had lost much of her former
facility; so now they were well matched.
Feeling this, Reimers played more easily and surely than of old, and
consequently had greater leisure to remark what he had formerly been
indifferent to--the beauty and grace of his opponent.
Meeting her during the winter in society, when she was as though bowed
down by her secret sorrow, and took little part in the gay life around
her, he had thought her looking older. But now, in the budding
springtime, in the warm sunshine, animated by the game, she seemed to
have bathed in the fountain of youth.
Her tennis costume--with which, of course, she wore no corset, but only
a narrow belt--was very becoming: a light blouse, a mouse-coloured
skirt, close fitting over the hips and not reaching to her ankles, grey
silk stockings, and white suede shoes guiltless of heels.
The ladies of the regiment pronounced this attire "indecent"; though
not one of them would have hesitated to dress similarly, if it had
suited her as well as it did Frau von Gropphusen.
Frau Kauerhof (_née_ von Lüben) had indeed once attempted to appear in
a like toilet, only her skirt was navy-blue. It was difficult to say
wherein the difference consisted,--perhaps her skirt was a little
longer than the other's,--but the whole effect was not so successful.
And yet Frau Kauerhof was a pretty creature enough; not exactly slim,
but rather of a blonde plumpness, and this was somewhat noticeable in
her loose shirt. The glances of the young lieutenants dwelt rather
insistently thereon. They were also able to make another interesting
discovery. Frau Kauerhof's calves began immediately above her ankles.
They were very fat calves.
Furthermore, Frau Kauerhof's white shoes advertised the fact that her
feet were enormous. This the ladies decided with absolute unanimity;
and they begged Frau Wegstetten, the highest in rank among the women
tennis-players, to give her a hint.
That lady shrank from the commission. It was unpleasant to offend one
whose papa was in the Ministry of War; and the situation might
therefore have continued, perhaps to the satisfaction of the younger
officers, if a fortunate chance had not brought Kauerhof himself to the
tennis-ground.
He escorted his wife chivalrously home, and led her, without a word, to
the mirror.
Her starched shirt was crumpled, and wet through with perspiration,
also her shoes were trodden all out of shape.
"Dear Marion," he said, "I have no objection to your going to balls as
_décolletée_ as ever you please, for you are beautiful ..." and he
kissed her neck; "but I do beg you not to exhibit yourself like this
again."
Marion coloured and answered: "Yes, you're right, Hubby! Now I know why
Fröben and Landsberg were staring at me so."
Then she pouted: "But Frau von Gropphusen looked nice dressed like
this!"
Her husband answered quietly: "My child, '_quod licet Jovi, non licet
bovi._'"
"What? What does that mean?"
Kauerhof translated gallantly, "You are prettier than the Gropphusen,
my Marion; but she is thinner than you."
For one must be polite to a wife who is by birth a von Lüben, and the
daughter of the head of a department in the War Office.
Reimers was not, like his comrades, accustomed to spend the greater
part of his leisure in frivolity and flirting. It therefore never
occurred to him to conceal his admiration for Frau von Gropphusen.
It often happened that he missed the easiest balls, fascinated in
watching the movements and graceful attitudes of his opponent. Her
feet, which even in the unflattering tennis-shoes looked small and
dainty, seemed merely to skim over the ground like the wings of a
passing swallow; and the most daring bounds and leaps, which in others
would have been grotesque, she accomplished with the easy agility of a
cat.
Reimers asked himself where his eyes had been that all this should
hitherto have passed him unnoticed. He thought he had never seen
anything so exquisite. But Hannah Gropphusen would scold him when he
stood gazing thus in naïve admiration.
"Herr Reimers," she would cry, "how inattentive you are. You must
really look after the balls better!"
But when she noted the direction of his admiring glances, a delicate
flush would overspread her face and mount to her white brow, on which a
single premature furrow was curiously noticeable.
"You see, Herr Reimers," she said, one evening in May, "we are the last
again."
The sun had just set. A light mist rising from the river was faintly
coloured by the last red rays.
Frau von Gropphusen rested her foot on a garden chair and refastened
the strap of her shoe. Reimers stood watching, with his racquet in his
hand. The stooping posture, though unusual, was so graceful, that he
said simply and with conviction, but without the least passion or
sentimentality in his voice: "Dear lady, how wonderfully beautiful you
are!"
Hannah von Gropphusen bent closer over her shoe-lace. She wanted to say
something in reply just as simple as his own words had been; but she
could find nothing except the banal rejoinder: "Please do not flatter
me, Herr Reimers!" and her voice rang a little sharply.
They walked silently side by side towards the town, by the footpath
across the meadows, and then along a little bit of the high-road until
they came to the first houses.
Reimers was under a spell. He could not speak. He listened to the light
rapid footfall that accompanied his longer stride to the rhythm of her
silk-lined skirt as she walked; and as the evening breeze from the
river wafted a faint perfume towards him, he thought of the lovely
slender arm he had seen through the transparent material of her sleeve.
This perfume must come from that fair soft skin. He felt a sudden
longing to kiss the beautiful arms.
Frau von Gropphusen avoided looking at her companion. Once only she
stole a glance at him with a shy, questioning, dubious expression. It
chanced that Reimers was looking at her. Their eyes met, and parted
reluctantly.
At the garden gate he kissed her hand in farewell. She started a little
and said with an assumption of gaiety, "Heavens! what can have come to
us? On a warm spring evening like this our hands are as cold as ice!"
Reimers hastened homewards, much perturbed in spirit. He was due at the
Güntzes' to supper at half-past eight. It had already struck the hour,
and he had yet to dress; for the colonel, who would probably be there
too, objected to see his officers in mufti, except when shooting or
some great sporting occasion was the excuse.
He found everything ready to his hand. Gähler was very satisfactory and
most thoughtful, even to setting a bottle of red wine and a carafe of
cool spring water on a table. A glass of water with a dash of wine in
it was the best thing to quench one's thirst after playing tennis.
He hastily tossed off a glassful. It cooled him wonderfully. He poured
out a second and drank it more slowly. The water was so cold as to dew
the glass, yet it seemed powerless to quench the fire which consumed
his throat, his breast, his head.
He began to dress hurriedly. He had but a few minutes. He was ready but
for his coat, when suddenly everything around him seemed to vanish into
endless distance. He felt loosed from time and space.
Mechanically he let himself slip into a chair, covering his face with
his hands and closing his eyes.
He thought of Hannah von Gropphusen. How beautiful she was! How
marvellously beautiful! He thought of that one look she had bestowed on
him; of the silent question spoken by her lovely shy eyes. He guessed
it to be: "Shall I really be happy once more? Dare I hope it? Is it
indeed you who will bring me happiness?" Out of an unfathomable abyss
of doubt and misery she appealed to him thus.
How unhappy was this woman! and how beautiful!
The door opened. Gähler came in.
"What do you want?" demanded Reimers.
"Beg pardon, sir," stammered the fellow, "I thought you were ready."
He held in his hand his master's cap and sabre.
"All right, give them to me!"
The lieutenant quickly completed his toilet, and hurried away to
Waisenhaus Strasse.
His passion for Frau von Gropphusen increased day by day. He took no
pains to combat it. True, his beloved was the wife of another, of a
brother-officer; but he did not even in thought desire to draw nearer
to her, and, should ever the temptation arise, he believed himself
strong enough to resist it.
Indeed, no words passed between them that might not have been overheard
by a third party. At their meeting and parting there was no meaning
pressure of the hand; only their glances betrayed the secret
understanding of a mighty, burning love: the deep sorrow of the one,
and the sweet, tender consolation of the other.
Needless to say, the gossips of the garrison were soon busy over such a
welcome morsel. Since the Gropphusen's flirtation with Major Schrader a
winter ago, she had furnished no cause of scandal. All the busier now
were the evil tongues.
It was not long before the subalterns began to make more or less
pointed remarks, half jestingly, to Reimers.
Little Dr. von Fröben shook his finger at him, and let fly a solitary
shaft: "Aye, aye, still waters run deep!" he said.
Landsberg actually congratulated him. "Happy you!" he cried with mock
sorrow, "as for me----" And he proceeded crudely to extol the physical
charms of Frau von Gropphusen--"that rattling fine woman," as he called
her.
Reimers shut him up sharply.
These attacks ended by opening his eyes to the comparative jejuneness
of his own outlook on life.
"You are an extraordinary young idealist," the colonel had said to him
not long before; Reimers began to think so too. Concerning a woman
whose favours were to be bought, one might think as did Landsberg; but
not concerning a lady of social standing. It never occurred to him to
think whether Frau von Gropphusen was or was not high-bosomed; he only
knew that she was lovely.
He would dearly have liked to knock down that reptile Landsberg. But
that would only have caused a scandal, which, for the dear woman's
sake, must not be.
He avoided her somewhat. No one should speak ill of her on his account.
He absented himself from the tennis-ground, and when he appeared there
did not play exclusively with her.
Hannah Gropphusen felt crushed. She did not understand him. What matter
if the gossips did amuse themselves at her expense? And with
falsehoods, too! She was used to it, and had a sufficiently thick skin
not to feel the stings of such insects. Was he going to turn from her
for such a reason as this? From her, who would gladly have thrown
herself at his feet, saying, "Leave me your love; I only live through
you"?
A choking sob clutched at her throat. In order not to feel herself
utterly overcome, she went to all the biggest parties, and mingled in
the gayest company. She would be talkative and noisy, merely to make
him aware of her presence. A wild desire seized her to make him notice
her at any cost, even at the risk of wounding him; yes, she wished to
wound him.
She flirted outrageously; uttering in shrill, tremulous tones loathsome
things which were monstrous in her mouth.
One evening she lingered on the recreation-ground with Reimers and
Landsberg, to the latter of whom she, by preference, directed her
unnatural merriment during this miserable period--just because she knew
that Reimers hated him. And the booby Landsberg was deeply flattered by
it.
They were resting a little before turning homewards. Landsberg had
thrown himself down on the grass, and was gazing fixedly upwards.
Reimers disapproved of the attitude, thinking it too cavalier
altogether, and glowered at him. Unintentionally he followed the
direction of his brother-officer's gaze.
Hannah von Gropphusen had seated herself upon a chair, carelessly
crossing her legs so that the grey silk stockings were visible from
ankle to knee. Presently she became conscious of Landsberg's regard;
she moved disdainfully, and slowly rearranged her skirt.
Reimers felt furious. He longed to kick the offending youth. He sprang
to his feet. He felt he must break some-thing, destroy something, dash
something to pieces. Tremblingly he swung his racquet, as if to hurl it
at the fellow's head. But suddenly his arm dropped to his side; he had
twisted his wrist. The racquet fell from his hand.
"What's the matter?" asked Frau von Gropphusen.
"Nothing," he answered roughly. "Excuse me, I must say good-night."
He bowed stiffly. All grew dark before his eyes. He saw dimly that the
lady had risen.
For a moment she stood perplexed. Then she said in a much softer voice:
"But won't you see me home to-night, Herr Reimers?"
"I am at your service," he answered.
Landsberg hastened to take his departure, and the two followed him
slowly.
Black clouds lowered overhead; now and then a gust of wind swept over
the fields.
Reimers quickened his pace.
Once only Hannah Gropphusen broke the silence: "You have hurt your
hand?" she asked.
"Yes--no--I don't know."
It was almost dark when they reached her garden gate.
"Show me your hand," she said gently.
Reimers held it out to her in silence. His wrist was a good deal
swollen.
Hannah bent down suddenly and breathed a hasty kiss on the injured
member. When she raised her head again tears were running down her
cheeks.
Reimers stooped a little. He seized her cool white fingers and kissed
them lingeringly. "Hannah!" he murmured.
She tenderly stroked his brow and bent her head sadly. Then he left
her.
When he had gone some distance he looked back. All was dark. A flash of
lightning shimmered on the horizon. It revealed an indistinct figure,
which was instantly swallowed up again by the darkness.
"Nothing much, old man," pronounced the surgeon-major, when he had
examined the injury. "You have strained it a bit. A tight bandage and
an application of arnica. You can go on duty, but you will not be able
to play tennis for the present."
In any case there would have been an end to that, as the order to start
for the practice-camp had already been issued.
Reimers learnt from his comrades that Frau von Gropphusen appeared no
more at the tennis club. It was said that she was not well and was
going away to some watering-place or other. There was much chuckling
over the news. "There has been a split," opined the gossips.
Reimers did not care. He knew better.
But the quartette at the supper-table in Waisenhaus Strasse did not
seem displeased with the way in which things had turned out.
Formerly, if he came late to supper, and excused himself on the plea of
having been detained at tennis, there had been a fatal air of
constraint, which would only gradually wear off; sometimes even lasting
the whole evening.
Now they received him at once with their old cordiality; they did not
believe in his sprain, taking it to be but a convenient pretext. He
made as much of it as he could. He showed the swelling; but, to be
sure, it had nearly gone down, and he still was not believed.
Finally, an amazing thing happened. Frau Kläre had been taking a turn
in the garden one evening with Marie Falkenhein, when she was called in
to her baby. On his way out, Reimers encountered the colonel's daughter
alone. He said good-night to her politely.
The young girl looked him full in the face with her clear grey eyes,
and said: "I am very glad, Lieutenant Reimers, that you have put an end
to that hateful gossip. It distressed me, on Frau von Gropphusen's
account, and also on yours, to have to hear horrid things said, and not
to be able to contradict them."
Reimers bowed and withdrew, in his astonishment forgetting to take
leave of Frau Kläre. Marie Falkenhein had spoken so warmly and
heartily, had looked at him so kindly and honestly, that he felt quite
overcome.
It struck him that the man who should win this maiden for his bride
would find through her an assured and tranquil happiness; there was a
sense of security in her steady gaze. Yet behind the clear placid eyes
of the young girl he saw the sorrowful orbs of the unhappy woman he
loved. He saw the heavy tears coursing down her white cheeks, as she
stood motionless in the fleeting gleam of the lightning ere she
vanished in the darkness of night.